Chapter 22 - Mel
Chapter twenty-two
Mel
Thursday morning hit with an impulse I hadn’t had since college: checking my social media. Ridiculous, yes. But apparently, sitting on the shoulders of a pro hockey coach in a WAG-approved outfit was enough to shake my wild side loose.
The photos had gone live last night. All eighteen of us from the shoot received the full drop and were asked—okay, heavily nudged by team- captain-turned-PR-activist, Asher—to post, tag, and blast the fun across every platform. Even the Tahoe West Panthers’ official account shared them.
I’d accepted more friend requests in the past twelve hours than I had in the last four years combined. High school acquaintances, college classmates I barely remembered except through blurry group shots, were suddenly “so happy for me”.
And the pictures were stunning: golden, vibrant, full of joy. There I was, on Sean’s shoulders, arms thrown out like a circus act, laughing as if my morning hadn’t started with a headline dissecting my love life. A few photos. A thousand ripple effects.
The second glances and questions that didn’t come yesterday definitely were coming today. Great.
What was the polite phrase for please stop staring, and no, I’m not giving a quote?
My bedroom door crack opened, and Sam’s head poked through.
“Mel?”
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. I could feel her excitement from my bed.
“Vince messaged me,” she said.
I bolted upright. “What?”
“I know. I had no idea he still had my number. He said he can’t reach you.”
“What a surprise. Of course, I blocked him.”
“Totally valid, but that’s not why I’m like this.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re like what?”
She sat on my bed and grabbed my arm as if to stabilize herself. “You, Melanie Boyd, are all over social media. Sitting on the shoulders of one of the most wanted GQ bachelors of the entire West Coast.”
“Oh my Lord,” I muttered, flopping back on the pillow. “Please don’t say it like that.”
“It’s a fact.” She pointed at me. “You’ve basically been claimed publicly, in a coordinated group photo shoot straight out of The Summer I Turned Pretty. Your life just got set to a killer playlist, sis.”
“I didn’t plan this.”
“No one plans this kind of thing. It’s the energy, the outfit, fun poses, you up there with glowing skin peeking under that cute top. Honestly, if you had planned it, my jaw would be on the floor, and I’d ask for your blueprint.”
My neck burned. “Can we not do this before coffee?”
She grinned. “Let me have my moment before I move halfway across the country.”
“Fine. Take five.” I smiled, but the shift in her expression pulled me back.
“Truth is…” Her hands twisted at the edge of the blanket. “Seeing you in these pictures, it makes me realize something.”
I tilted my head. “What?”
She let out a soft, almost embarrassed laugh. “I’ve been so focused on school, research… I left no space for anything else. You know, like dating. I always told myself there’d be time, but…” She waved her hand, brushing it off, though her voice caught and gave her away. “Now I’m not so sure.”
I reached over, squeezing her arm. “Sam, your time will come. You’re a total catch, whether you believe it or not. No amount of research could hide those killer eyes or that hair people would pay to have.”
“Thanks.” She smiled, but there was still a softness in her voice. “For now, I’m… a little jealous of my sister.”
The honesty landed, warm and bittersweet.
“Thank the Lord. If you didn’t feel anything, I’d be worried,” I teased.
She chuckled and scrolled through her phone. “Hear this—‘Glory be, is this the same Mel from our shared dorm?!’ ‘Mel’s glow-up is elite!’ ‘Is that Coach Murphy?!’ ‘Girl, you’re trending among people who used to copy your notes!’”
And so, we slipped back into the morning highlights.
“Justice for the girl with highlighters. You’ve gone viral, Mel.”
“That’s it. I’m throwing my phone in the lake.”
She smirked. “I’m curious what Erica thinks about that.”
“Don’t even go there. She’d send me a GIF of a cheerleader doing backflips with the caption: Me when you finally marry that man.”
“I love her. She’s totally in my camp.” Sam laughed, then added, “Tonight, you’re going to help me finish packing. Sushi, wine, floor seating—our trademark brand of peak emotional maturity.”
“I don’t know how to feel about all this. Yesterday I was carefree. Today I’m panicking. Part of me is waiting for someone to say I stepped out of line.”
Sam tilted her head. “And who exactly gets to say that? Mom? Vince? Internet trolls?”
I didn’t respond.
“Mel, you’re fine. You’ve just decided to stop hiding; that’s all.”
My phone buzzed.
Sean: That flower in your hair, you on my shoulders laughing like that… Not going to lie, it rewired my brain.
I laughed under my breath.
“Sean?” Sam guessed.
I nodded.
“You like him.”
“Yeah.”
She flopped onto the bed beside me and bumped her shoulder into mine. “Love it. Keep showing up and let the rest of them figure it out.”
By the time I parked at work, I’d mentally drafted my new favorite sentence: Glad you loved the pictures, but I’d rather not discuss them. Polite, efficient, and emotionally coated. My heart thudded a little louder with each step toward the main entrance.
I didn’t know what today held, but I wasn’t walking in alone. I had a tiny invisible bodyguard of self-assurance, and I couldn’t deny that my boyfriend had his hand in it.
The day went exactly as predicted. I dodged every curious question with my now-tested, famous line, and it worked.
Later, I was sitting in my car, ready to head home. My phone rang.
Sean.
“Hey, Cutie.”
“Hey. You landed?”
“Yeah, and it’s already kinda warm here in Dallas.” A pause. “So, how are you holding up?”
“The day went as expected. But holy smokes! I had no idea! It’ll take me the rest of the year to process the sheer volume of ‘likes’ and ‘hearts.’”
He chuckled. “Same. Press conferences are definitely going to be all about that. But, hey…,” His voice softened. “I’m glad it’s with you.”
My heart skittered. “I’m glad it’s with you, too,” I said.
“I like that,” he murmured.
I let it land, flips, flops, and skitters tumbling through me. Then my phone clicked with an incoming message. I opened it. Sean had sent a photo: the bright orange barrette in his open suitcase, among t-shirts, socks and boxer briefs.
I burst out laughing. “You travel with that? I didn’t even know I lost it.”
His chuckle rolled low and warm through the line. “It slipped while you were busy kissing me, making those little sounds in my mouth. Couldn’t let it get away.”
Heat flooded my neck. “So, you stole it.”
“Rescued it,” he corrected smoothly.
“And you thought it would make a great travel companion.”
“Best one I’ve had,” he said without missing a beat. Then added, “but I don’t remember putting it in there. I opened my bag and nearly went blind from the orange thing.”
“Yeah, it smuggled itself into Dallas. You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe. I guess even your hair accessories are stubborn,” he allowed.
I laughed. “Figures. That’s how you know it’s mine.” I zoomed in on the photo. “And it’s next to your boxers?”
“That’s sacred territory,” he said, amused. “Besides, now we’re even—one to one in the underwear exposure race.”
“Wait a minute. You’re keeping score?”
“Of course,” he said smugly. “Yours somersaulted across the garage floor, mine’s packed, traveling with a barrette.”
I threw my head back, catching my breath after another laugh.
“The barrette’s practically family now,” he added. “This little flash of orange daring me to smile every time I open my bag.”
My grin stretched wide. “You’re such a keepsake thief.”
“Souvenir,” he countered easily, “and only of things that matter.”
I was appreciatively looking at how he organized his bag, when he cleared his throat.
“I’ve got a favor to ask, but I don’t want it to feel like too much. With everything going on, it slipped my mind.”
“Yeah?”
“Cassy,” he said. “Jeff’s flying in tomorrow. He and Abby want to spend the weekend at the coast. Normally, I’d find a sitter, but the idea of strangers at my house for an entire weekend when I’m not there… Would you please help?”
My heart tugged. He was trusting me with his house and his niece for an entire weekend.
I swallowed. “I’m actually not working tomorrow to send Sam off. That’ll work.”
“Cutie… I owe you big time.” His voice went grave and warm.
Cutie. He’d called me that a few times now. I was still smiling when I opened the front door to our house.
“There you are, Melanie Grace Boyd!”
My mom’s voice cut through that warmth like a cold blade making me flinch. I stopped cold in my tracks. She stood in the living room like she’d been planted there for hours: arms crossed, righteous fury loaded.
“Hold that thought. Nature calls first,” I said and slid down the hall to the bathroom.
Pee time was nonnegotiable, and it gave me a minute to brace for what was coming.
The how-dare-you glare she gave me was definitely about the pictures. I’d broken some sacred rule from her unwritten guidebook: How to Be Properly Uninteresting and Unproblematic by Ruby Boyd.
But I was a grown-ass woman who had just agreed to take care of her boyfriend’s house and niece for the weekend.
The same man who turned an ice rink from the arena into my playground, who made me feel unstoppable just by holding my hand, who looked at me like I wasn’t only enough but the whole damn sun.
So why was my chest tightening? Why did that old muscle memory of self-sabotage kick in? The one that wanted to smooth it over, be her definition of acceptable? I hated that I still felt it.
I returned to the living room, pulse racing.
Mom was waiting, stewing. “First, you’re jetting off all over the place for that job,” she snapped. “Now it’s front-row seats to you flinging yourself on that man’s shoulders like a hussy, Melanie! Is that how you want to be seen?”
Oof. I winced at the sting.